


Phony

by chuusei_teki_na_koe



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira Kurusu Is a Slut, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Asphyxiation, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad people being bad, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Casual Sex, Cock & Ball Torture, Dubious Consent, Everything Hurts, Feeding, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, Literary References & Allusions, Love/Hate, M/M, Masochism, Nipple Clamps, No Safeword, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Sadism, Sexual Coercion, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, spoiler TW in the endnotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-05 18:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuusei_teki_na_koe/pseuds/chuusei_teki_na_koe
Summary: “I won't tell anyone—if you do whatever I say.”Akira is having a good time in high school: he has good grades, a happy family, friends, girlfriends, everything a teenage boy could want.He doesn't really know much about Goro Akechi, in second year, but he comes off as the fakest person ever. He's friendly to everyone, but you only ever see him alone. Nobody really likes him.Then Akira happens to see inside the notebook Akechi never lets anyone touch.[tl;dr goro the virgin and akira the chad in a mundane high school au]





	1. Exposure

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [假面](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122351) by [echoedsongever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoedsongever/pseuds/echoedsongever)



> A certain individual is entirely at fault for this fic. You know who you are. 
> 
> This is just indulgent filth and drama, please don't expect anything much...
> 
> and please do mind the tags. **big flashing dubious consent sign** This is miserable porngst, you have been warned.

 

Akira didn't see him until well into his first year.

He'd heard of him, of course. _Goro Akechi_ was immediately ranked first in second year test scores, so even the first years knew about him. Akira knew some girls had crushes on him, but they tended to avoid confessing. He was just off-putting in that way, and he intimidated girls out of approaching him. Well, Akira had on more than one occasion consoled a girl in her heartbreak over Goro Akechi and turned said consolation to his own advantage, so perhaps he owed the guy.

Akira had devoted very little thought to Akechi, though, until the moment they met in person.

“Hey, how'd you get up—” Pushing open the door to the roof, Akira paused. He could have sworn he'd seen a friend of his come up here, but there was no sign of the guy he'd been looking for.

What he did see was a head of longish dyed-brown hair swaying in the breeze and the back of a uniform shirt. There was a boy on the opposite end of the roof, startlingly close to the edge.

There was no fence around the edge of this roof, which was part of why the door to the roof was supposed to be locked at all times. So Akira was surprised to find out he could get up here, and even more surprised to find someone else had beaten him to the punch.

The boy turned to face Akira, but didn't say anything for a moment, and immediately, Akira was struck by his beauty. That was the kind of face that should have been on a girl.

“How did you get up here?” Akira asked, the question he'd been about to ask the friend he'd thought was up here.

“The door just happened to be open,” the boy answered innocently. It was the first of what Akira would later learn was many lies. Then the boy walked right past him, back inside and down the stairs without another word.

“Akira!”

Right as the boy was leaving, Akira heard the friend he'd been looking for calling his name.

“There you are!” Akira hopped down the stairs to his classmate. “Hey, do you know who that guy is?” Akira gestured to the boy who was just walking out of sight.

“Oh, the guy who just went past?” His classmate asked. “Yeah, that's Goro Akechi.”

“Oh, that's him, huh? ...Wasn't what I was expecting, somehow.”

“Right? You expect him to be like the model student type, but he's actually pretty creepy.”

Akira blinked. “Oh, yeah?”

“I dunno. There's just something off about him.”

“Yeah...I guess,” Akira remarked vaguely before changing the subject.

x x x

The second time he saw Goro Akechi was in the hallway before school, near the shoes boxes at the entrance. Akira was rather engaged in a conversation about nothing important, so he didn't notice Akechi at first, but he did notice it when Akechi bumped into one of Akira's friends and dropped a whole stack of books.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Akechi said with a broad smile. “That was my fault.” He knelt down to start gathering up his books.

That was the first strange thing. The collision had clearly been the girl's fault.

“Oh no,” said Akira's friend, kneeling down to help. She reached out to the nearest of the fallen stack, a thick ringed notebook.

Immediately, Akechi's hand snapped out to smack down on the notebook. The broad smile never left his face. “It's okay. I've got it.”

“O-okay then...” the girl said awkwardly, and after a pause, she stood up and started walking off.

“Weirdo,” another friend of Akira's muttered as the cluster of them started moving away.

“Yeah, someone looks about ready to snap,” another whispered just a little too loud.

Akira chanced a backward glance at Akechi, and saw him looking. That pleasant smile was gone from his face. He was looking up at Akira through his bangs with an expression of nothing at all.

 _He's prettier when he doesn't smile,_ was Akira's only thought.

x x x

The third time he saw Goro Akechi was in the boys' bathroom at the end of the hallway in the second annex. This bathroom was far from everything, and so tended to be empty. That particular afternoon, Akira had unwisely eaten far too many puddings and it had not sat well with him, so he needed the extra privacy of this distant can, as he felt he was going to spend a rather embarrassingly long time on the loo.

So he picked a stall, put his feet up on the door, (he didn't like the idea of people knowing he was spending fifteen full minutes on the can) pulled out his cell phone and settled in for the long haul.

Not long into his session, the door slammed open and someone came into the stall next to him.

The boy in the stall next to him was breathing hard as if he'd been running. Akira didn't hear any sounds of him sitting down on the toilet, or peeing in there, either. There was just heavy breathing that seemed to go on longer than it should.

Then a bang that nearly made Akira jump. The boy had beat a fist into the stall door. Then another bang.

“...Fuck.” It was barely a word, more of a choked noise that sounded like it was being wrung out from somewhere deep in his gut. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Akira stayed silent and still and pretended he wasn't there.

“Fuck everyone,” the boy rasped, and there was a softer thud that sounded perhaps like his head hitting the stall door. It was then that Akira recognized the voice. It was Goro Akechi.

After a while, Akechi left. Akira's shit had retreated all the way up his intestines after that, so he gave up on going and was about to leave when he saw something on the floor.

A notebook. The same thick, ringed notebook that Akechi had slapped a hand over that day.

Akira felt a twinge of reserve, but curiosity won over, and he picked it up and slipped it into his own bag.

x x x

Akira didn't look at the notebook until he got home. During the time when he would normally be studying, he sat down at his desk, turned on his lamp and opened up Akechi's notebook.

He had no idea what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.

The very first entry was this.

_He's bold in form and figure, muscled with the power to follow through with his ideals. His bow gives him the wings, the freedom he desires. His colors are white and heroic primaries. Everyone wants him, wants to be him._

_But all of it is a lie._

_He's a zebra-striped monster, his body an optical illusion made flesh, part horse and part demon and with no face, but claws. He promises everything but brings only pain, ends what others have begun._

_But he does it not with rage, but with a smile and a witty remark. To him, this is a game. Everything is._

And a drawing of two figures, back-to-back, one heroic, one villainous.

Akira turned the page.

_Loki wants to wrap his fingers around his victim's neck and squeeze the life out of him. But Robin Hood is always there, forcing him to lower his hand. This is the balance they strike._

It wasn't like a coherent story. More like bits and pieces of different stories, with bits of real life tossed in between. Sometimes, it became hard to tell which was which.

_There is a hierarchy to this world, one that anyone can understand if they just open their eyes. But doing so is painful, and everyone would rather just keep them shut and live in their own little fantasy worlds._

_The people at the top have everything: money, fame, power, popularity._

_Loki and Robin Hood stand at the top of that hierarchy. They just earned their positions in different ways._

Some of it, however, was more clearly about real life.

_They're probably fucking. I know they are. She's so stupid. Doesn't she know that he's been fucking his way around the whole class? You're just another hole to him, moron._

_I wonder how many people have seen his dick?_

_He's good-looking enough to get whoever he wants, after all. And charming. I bet any girl would want him. That's all they want, after all, a guy with a handsome face and perfect abs. He can be dumb as rocks and an asshole, and they'll still be drawn like magnets to suck on his massive cock._

_What a stupid waste of time, though. Who likes who, who's dating who. It's all the most shallow thing in the world. You go up to some random person you hardly know and confess your feelings, and then follow through in this play-acting of a relationship. It's all just about appearances and fantasy._

_Not like any girls are interested in me. Why would they be? I guess they can sense something's wrong with me. Not like I'd bother with any of those shallow airheads. God, they all make me sick. I can't even imagine dating a girl. Just what about them is worth all that drama? I don't get it._

And beneath that, another picture of that Robin Hood character looking muscly and half-naked.

Akira put a hand over his face and snickered to himself. “Fuck, this guy is so gay.” Akira was pretty closeted himself, but at least he wasn't this badly in denial. He just liked to keep private things private. And he still liked girls. It was easier to date them, so he did. That was all.

Akira spent the rest of the night reading the notebook from cover to cover. None of it was particularly uplifting stuff. There was a story about Robin Hood rescuing a boy from an abusive foster family while Loki went back to burn the foster parents' house down and torture them to death. There was another story about Loki tracking down the boy's father, promising all sorts of things to him, then stabbing him in the back and torturing him to death. And then there was another story about Robin Hood scooping the boy up in his arms, kissing him, comforting him, and giving him a handjob—and Loki, holding him down, clawing him bloody, fucking him raw and making him break.

“At least the denial wore off,” Akira muttered as he turned the page.

It wasn't hard to put the pieces together.

As Akira got past the halfway mark, the content of the notebook took a markedly darker turn. The stories began to feature people Akira recognized—teachers and students, and the fantasies became more concrete, more real. Robin Hood gradually disappeared from the stories, while Loki became more prominent.

One particular story involved not Loki, but the boy from the earlier stories personally executing every student in his classroom with a knife before killing himself. There was a picture of the knife in the book, and it looked less fantastical than his other drawings of Loki and Robin Hood.

Some pages near the end were torn from violent pen marks, then meticulously taped together.

_I'll never be that. I try and try and try and try and what do I get?_

_Make me normal._

Near the end.

_It's not me. The world is broken. I can't fix it. It's beyond me. It's beyond anyone. All I can do is fuck up as much of it as I can before I go out. If I stab into the world's guts and wrench out its innards and show everyone, maybe someone will get it._

_I want off this fucking planet._

Akira closed the notebook. There were still a handful of blank pages near the end, but it was mostly filled.

He lay his chin down on his desk, on top of the notebook, and closed his eyes.

“Goro Akechi...” he murmured.

x x x

Akira saw Goro Akechi again the following day.

Akira was skipping out of class. Not for any good reason. He did it sometimes, when he felt like he could get away with it, because he was ahead in class or whatever, or when he just wanted an afternoon off. If he kept it to a minimum, he could pull it off without getting in too much trouble beyond a lecture or two.

And this was one of those days. His mind kept going to Akechi's notebook, tucked into his desk. He hadn't made up his mind what to do about it.

And he should do something about it, right? He couldn't just read all that and then pretend he'd never seen it. No way.

But he wasn't exactly expecting to be presented with the individual in question so soon.

Since it was class time, the hallway was empty.

Which was why when Akira turned a corner, he was surprised to see Akechi standing right there, outside the second-year classroom that Akira assumed was his.

Akechi's eyes widened in honest shock when he saw Akira. In his hands was a knife—it looked like something you'd get from a novelty store rather than a kitchen store, and it looked familiar.

It was the same one from that notebook. Akechi's grip on it was white-knuckled.

Akira stood there for a moment, a meter or two away from him, staring. Akechi didn't move.

“You're gonna do it, aren't you?” Akira muttered.

“I-I...”

Akira didn't really think. His body just lunged out on its own, going for the knife, wrenching it out of Akechi's grip. Akechi was taller than him, but not all that strong, and surprise was on Akira's side, so it wasn't too hard, though after a moment, Akechi seemed to realize what was going on, and he stomped on Akira's foot, attempting to take the knife back.

Akira was faster, though, and he dashed off, knife in hand, turning back only to say, “You want it? Come and get it.”

Akira ran off down the hallway and into the other building to that secluded bathroom where he'd first found the notebook, and Akechi burst in after him.

“Give that back,” Akechi hissed, back against the bathroom door, his face twisted in unmasked rage.

Seeing that sort of raw expression on his face just got Akira's blood pumping, for some reason. “Why? So you can stab all your classmates?” he asked, hip leaning against the bathroom counter.

Akechi stared at him.

“I found your notebook here,” Akira said casually, turning the knife in his hands while always keeping an eye on Akechi. “I read all of it.”

Akechi blanched. Akira realized he must have been freaking out all night about his missing notebook. Maybe that was why he'd decided to carry out his suicide scheme today.

“It's okay,” Akira said, tone still calm as he tested the edge of the knife with a finger. A drop of blood dripped down it. “I won't tell anyone.” His eyes flicked to Akechi. “If you do as I say.”

“What do you want?” Akechi demanded.

“First,” Akira lifted a finger. “You're not allowed to hurt yourself. Second, you're not allowed to hurt anyone else. Third...” Akira turned the knife around and handed it back to Akechi handle-first. Akechi stared down at it with disbelieving eyes.

“Third,” Akira repeated, licking his lips. “You have to suck me off right now.”

“...What?”

“C'mon. You like dick, right? So then suck me off. Or do you want the whole school finding out about your torture fantasies?”

Akechi's expression slowly transformed from disbelief into disgust as he finally snatched the knife from Akira's hands. “Fine. But if you tell anyway, I'm going to fucking kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Then c'mere.”

Akira took Akechi's hand and tugged him into one of the stalls, locking the door behind them.

Akira shoved Akechi's head down, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his dick.

“How can you already be hard?” Akechi muttered with a swallow and a nervous dart of his eyes. Akira didn't have to spend much time wondering to figure out he was a virgin.

“What can I say, I get off on dangerous situations,” Akira purred. “Now suck.”

The knife clattered to the floor as Akechi's lips descended onto Akira's cock.

It was a sloppy and amateurish blowjob. Akechi clearly didn't know what to do with his tongue, and there was a bit of awkward teeth in there. But something about the setting, the knife on the floor, and the look of pure resentment on Akechi's face the whole time really did it for Akira.

One hand against Akira's uniform pants for support, saliva dripped down Akechi's chin as he tried and failed to take Akira's substantial length.

“You've never done this before, have you?” Akira said, enjoying the angry furrow of Akechi's brows. “So how does it feel, huh?” Akira cupped both his hands around Akechi's cheeks to push him off his dick so he could get an answer.

Panting, Akechi wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “None of your business,” he muttered, but his eyes were glassy, and Akira's eyes flicked down to see a tent in his pants.

“Glad we're both enjoying it,” Akira said, then he took Akechi by the sides of his face again and pulled him toward his cock, pressing the slick, hot skin of his erection against Akechi's cheek. “You're beautiful when you're angry.”

Akechi's upturned eyes spoke of murder.

“You thinking about cutting my throat?” Akira took his dick in hand, maneuvering it back into Akechi's mouth as he began fucking Akechi's face. “You want to kill me? Fuck, that's hot.”

Akira tangled his fingers in Akechi's hair and picked up the pace, until he got over-eager and Akechi clearly couldn't handle it anymore as he pulled away, coughing. So Akira finished himself, grabbing Akechi by the hair to keep him still as he pumped his cock with the other hand, coming in ropes over Akechi's face.

“You look really pretty like that,” Akira murmured, entirely sincere.

“Fuck you,” Akechi snapped back at him, wiping his face and getting to his feet. He was clearly hard as a rock, though.

“Let me finish that for you,” Akira said, sliding his hand down Akechi's crotch. Akechi immediately gasped and bucked under his touch.

“Someone's sensitive,” Akira leaned in close to say, unbuckling Akechi's belt and sliding one hand into his underwear. “You know, I saw that one picture you drew.” Akira pulled Akechi toward him, turning him around so he was pressed against Akira's chest and Akira's hand was around his cock, his other arm wrapped tightly around Akechi's middle. “Robin Hood was doing something like this, right?” Akira stroked him slowly, placing a light kiss on the side of his neck. “Do you want it like this?” He murmured in Akechi's ear.

Akechi was tense as a rock in Akira's grasp as if he were expecting an attack, no matter how gentle Akira's touch was. Akira could taste the sweat on his neck. But as Akira slowly stroked him, his hips began to pump into Akira's grip of their own accord. He didn't answer Akira's question.

“So?” Akira breathed, right in his ear. “Or would you rather have it like Loki?” Akira's mouth moved down Akechi's neck, and then his teeth sunk in, hard.

Akechi yelped, and his hips thrust forward into Akira's grip. Akira's other hand slid down to push down his pants a bit so he could grip Akechi's balls just a tad too tightly. “You want it to hurt?” He ran a sharp nail down the line of Akechi's cock.

Akira could feel Akechi relax, the weight of his body sagging back into Akira. He raised one of his hands to his face, pressing the heel of his palm against his mouth.

Akira took that as an affirmative.

He bit the same place on Akechi's neck again with bruising force, biting, sucking as he squeezed Akechi's balls tighter with one hand, pumping his cock aggressively with the other. It was only a few moments before Akechi jerked and cum was spilling over his hand and down Akechi's pants.

Akechi slumped against him for a moment, breathing hard, before he seemed to remember where he was. He ripped himself away suddenly, fumbling to do up his pants again before he picked up his knife, unlocked the bathroom door and stumbled out to wash off his hands and face at the sink.

Zipping himself up, Akira followed him there, leaning over on the sink to look over at Akechi wiping cum out of his overlong hair and dabbing at his stained pants with paper towels.

Akira grinned as Akechi checked his neck out in the mirror, tugging his collar up to hide the mark Akira had made.

“If you ever want to do this again, the come here after school,” Akira said.

“Fuck off,” Akechi said without even a glance his way.

“I like you better when you're not smiling.” Akira pushed off the sink and sauntered toward the door. “Anyway, offer's open.” He didn't look back as he walked out the door.

It was only then that Akira noticed that the sleeve of his uniform was bloodied, and there was a long cut across the back of his forearm. Akechi had cut him at some point in their scuffle, and he'd never noticed.

 


	2. Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real title of this chapter is “discord nsfw chat bullshit.”
> 
> Come join the Goro Akechi Protection Squad and you, too, can whisper your kinks and headcanon into my ear and have it come out as half-baked smutty fanfiction.

 

After their first encounter, Akira started going out of his way to use that remote bathroom any time he had to take a leak. He wasn't really expecting anything, and he didn't loiter around there. If he just wanted to get laid, he had other options, after all. But there was a little thrill in the possibility that he could run into a desperate and deeply ashamed Akechi there, and that was enough to put a little spring in his step.

So he was quite surprised to find Akechi there right after school just a couple of days later. He was at the back of the bathroom, leaning against the sink counter and with a book open like he was just trying to kill time. But judging from how his eyes snapped up the moment Akira walked in, the book was probably a cover.

“Were you waiting here for me?” Akira asked as he came up to sit on the counter beside where Akechi was leaning.

Akechi didn't close his book. He just looked at Akira and then back down at the text. “Don't flatter yourself.”

“So you like reading in bathrooms.” Akira leaned over to look at his book. “ _Catcher in the Rye?_ Wow, that's a real teenage choice.”

“And here I assumed you were illiterate.”

“Where did you get that idea?” Akira was genuinely puzzled. It wasn't like Akechi knew him at all. Akira did get decent enough grades, and he didn't think he came off like an idiot or anything. “Come on, I know something about books. I'm told it's like _My Youth Romantic Comedy,_ except old and foreign.”

Akechi gave him a look of utmost disdain, and Akira laughed.

“I'm joking, I had to read it for world literature in cram school last year. It was boring as rocks, though.”

“Oh, really?” Akechi's response was toneless.

“What, you offended I don't like it?”

“Not at all,” Akechi replied. “I hate this book.”

Akira gave him a quizzical look. “Then why are you reading it?”

Akechi snapped the paperback shut and put it in his bag. “Because you read it for world literature in cram school last year,” he said, as if that were an answer that made sense. “So if you're here, then you want to fuck, right?” He said the word harshly, but a tinge of red colored his cheeks when the word came out of his mouth. It was cute. “Then let's do it.” Akechi jerked his head toward the stall.

“Not here,” Akira shook his head. “Come on, it's dirty. Come to my place. Call it a study session. You can tutor me, Senpai~”

Akechi looked absolutely disgusted by the idea of it. “What? No. Forget it, then.” He started walking out.

“Hold on,” Akira grabbed him by the back of his blazer. “My parents both work late and they won't be home. What's the big deal? Come over for a couple hours.” Akira circled around in front of Akechi, sticking both his hands in his pockets as he took a suggestive look up and down Akechi's body. “I'd sure love to be able to undress you at home.”

His words had the intended effect, and Akechi went completely red.

“...And I have your notebook at my house,” Akira added. “So if you want it, you've got to come over.”

Akechi scowled. “...Fine,” he choked out. “Then let's go.”

Akira pushed open the bathroom door and walked out, Akechi following him a good few paces behind. Akira was normally the type to slow down for people, but it seemed Akechi didn't quite want to seem as if he was walking with him. Fair enough.

On the way out to the school gates, Akira ran into a friend of his and stopped to chat for a bit, and when he did, Akechi walked right past him as if they'd never spoken. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, it was as if Akechi had flipped a switch. His posture was different, his stride was lighter, and he wore a broad smile on his face as he walked down the hall. Some classmate of his said a polite goodbye to him, and he waved back to her.

Akira was so busy staring, he didn't realize he was ignoring his friend until he got tapped on the shoulder. He turned his head and received a vicious poke in the cheek that he well deserved.

“What're you lookin' at?” His friend asked.

“Oh. Nothing. Just zoning out. Math class really fried my brain today, you know?”

“I know that feeling,” his friend replied, and the conversation turned elsewhere.

After shaking off his friend, Akira found Akechi waiting outside the school gates. They began walking in the same pattern as before, Akira far enough ahead that it wouldn't seem they were walking together. It weirded Akira out, but if that was how Akechi wanted to play it, then fine. His choice.

When they reached Akira's house, Akechi stopped outside the gate and stared up at the building.

“What?” Akira went back to the gate to ask him. It wasn't like his house was anything special. The yard was sort of overgrown, since the gardener in a while, but that was about it.

“Nothing,” Akechi muttered,” then pushed his way through the gate, following Akira into his house, toeing off his shoes before he followed Akira up to his bedroom.

Akira's room was fairly typical for a teenage boy, he figured. Perhaps a bit cleaner than most. There was enough space that if you flopped down on the floor and spread out, you wouldn't touch any of the furniture. He did have girls up here fairly often, and he wanted to project a good image for them. He had his bed, a study desk with a laptop, a Risette poster on the wall, and a bookshelf with a mix of school-related books and manga, plus some video game consoles and a TV.

“So where's my notebook?” Akechi asked immediately, upon entering the room. He seemed to be scanning the room, eyes absorbing everything around him with something approaching nausea on his face.

“You'll get it before you go, don't worry. There's no rush,” Akira said as he dropped his bag by his desk before sitting down on the bed, patting the spot beside him. Akechi stiffly approached, but didn't sit down, so Akira reached out to his hand and pulled.

Akechi seemed unprepared for this and toppled over into his chest, where he froze, face inches from Akira's.

“Relax,” was all Akira said, and then he pulled Akechi a couple inches closer until their mouths connected.

Akechi's mouth was frozen at first, eyes wide as Akira's lips moved against his gently. Akira pulled back, looked at him, then kissed him again, and this time, Akechi responded, hands gripping against the edge of the bed as he accepted Akira's tongue.

Akira flopped back onto the bed, pulling Akechi down on top of him as he deepened the kiss, hands sliding up Akechi's torso to push his sweater vest up, fingers brushing up his sides.

Akechi broke the kiss, though, instead moving to unbutton Akira's shirt, then going straight for his belt and yanking his uniform pants and boxers down.

“Someone's in a hurry,” Akira said with mild amusement. Akechi just glared at him from where he knelt in front of the bed, and then, tugging his own sweater-vest back down, his head descended to Akira's cock.

Akira wasn't going to complain about that. He sat up so he could watch Akechi at work, run his fingers through Akechi's surprisingly soft hair.

“A little more suction,” he said, and Akechi seemed pissed to receive any criticism at all, but he did as he was told, and it was better than the last time. Akira pushed Akechi's long bangs out of his face so he could watch his hollowing cheeks, his lidded eyes.

“Ahh, fuck,” Akira said, pushed Akechi's head off his dick. “I just want to fuck you.”

Akechi jerked back. “What? No.”

“Come on,” Akira's fingers slid over Akechi's face, tracing his lower lip, ghosting down his neck. “I know how to make it good.”

“Have you...” Akechi's lids lowered a bit as he looked away. “Done it before, then?”

“Of course,” Akira smirked. “Girls love it, once you get them used to it. And with guys...” Akira leaned forward, head over Akechi's shoulder, so he could run his hands down Akechi's shoulders down to his ass, where he cupped both cheeks and squeezed. “it's even better.”

“So you've fucked guys before, huh?” Akechi murmured, and it was close enough to Akira's ear to send a shiver down his spine.

Akira straightened up again and then leaned down to pull out the box under his bed with his toys. Akechi watched in silence as Akira slid a condom over a vibrating buttplug and lubed it up. “Yeah, once. A guy from a different school.” Someone Akira wouldn't have to be in contact with regularly. They'd run into each other at a school cultural festival, one open to the public, and then sucked each other off in a karaoke booth after. He'd come over a few times after that. But since Akira had started high school, they hadn't spoken. Well, not like they'd ever been close to begin with.

“And how many girls have you fucked?” Akechi asked, tone snide as he climbed up onto the bed in front of Akira.

“What, do you think I keep notches on my bedpost? Come on.”

“I doubt you would want to ruin your fancy furniture like that,” Akechi sneered. “I'm just asking exactly how many STDs I should be expecting.”

“All the girls I've fucked were virgins, so you're safe,” Akira said, putting down the butt plug to undo Akechi's belt. Akechi was kneeling over him, looking down on him with an expression of disdain, but he couldn't hide his flush as Akira tugged down his pants and brief and slid a lubed finger under his balls to probe his asshole.

“You're a real manwhore, aren't you?” Akechi said, but the bite of his remark was weakened by a shiver and a twitch of his cock.

“You jealous?” Akira grinned as his finger slid into Akechi's tight pucker.

“Why the hell would I want to fuck all those...ah...” Akechi slumped, and he leaned down on Akira's shoulders for support.

“Oh, that's not what I mean,” Akira said as his finger gently circled the nub inside Akechi's asshole. “Do you want my dick all to yourself?”

Akechi looked down at him with a look of utter, seething rage. “I'd rather fuck myself with the business end of a knife.”

“That might be a little too kinky for me,” Akira said with a grin before he grabbed Akechi's ass cheek with his other hand, pulling Akechi's hips forward to bring his hard cock into Akira's mouth.

Akechi _whined,_ bucking into Akira's mouth, and Akira took it, sucking hard as he pressed a second finger into Akechi's ass and began fucking him from with his fingers as he took Akechi's cock to the back of his throat.

Akira had barely begun when Akechi jerked and sent a hot salty flavor straight down his throat. Akira pulled Akechi's hips into his face, pressing hard into his prostate as he sucked every drop of Akechi's cum dry.

Akechi dropped into Akira's lap, panting.

“Good, huh?” Akira said with a smirk before going for the buttplug.

Akechi raised his head. “I just came.”

“Then you'll be nice and relaxed.” Akira bowled him over on his back and pulled his pants off the rest of the way, ticking the buttplug to the lowest vibration setting and pressing it against his slick hole. Akechi squirmed, but Akira's grip was firm as he maintained the pressure of the buttplug against Akechi's asshole and slowly pushed it in. It was one of those ones that started narrow and got wider as it came closer to the flared base. At the halfway point, Akechi clicked up the vibration and pushed it in further.

Akechi's ass swallowed it up like it was hungry to be filled, right to the base. With the corded controls in hand, Akira leaned over Akechi to witness his handiwork. Akechi's eyes were closed, and he was clenching the sheets with one hand, the other on his cock, and he'd already jerked himself to hardness again.

With a smile to himself, Akira got up to go to his desk, fished out something from the back of his drawer, then returned to the bed. When climbed onto the bed again, Akechi had stopped stroking himself and his eyes were open, but the look in them was glassy.

“What...?” Akechi said.

“I figured you'd be into this,” Akira said, and he handed Akechi a knife.

It was an antique he'd gotten from his grandfather, with a blade of about ten centimeters and a smooth-worn wooden handle. He kept it sharp. Akira pressed it into Akechi's grip, then turned off the buttplug and slowly pulled it out before he settled himself back against the pillows. “Straddle me,” he told Akechi, and it seemed by this point he was just horny enough to do it without arguing.

Watching Akechi steady Akira's cock with one hand as he slowly sank himself down on it was heady, but it wasn't enough. Akira took Akechi's wrist and brought the knife in his grip to Akira's own throat. “Now ride me,” he told Akechi.

“You're crazy,” Akechi said, but there was something of a crazy light in his eyes, too. “You get off on this?”

“Don't you?” Akira's hands slid down to Akechi's hips, his head tilting back to fully expose his neck. “You keep looking at me like you want to slit my throat. And your notebook was filled with so much violent shit, I figured you'd be into this.”

“What if I really did it, though?” Akechi said, and the way he said it, Akira started to wonder if he just might.

 _Fuck._ Akira's hips thrust up of their own accord, and Akechi moaned.

“Then just do it after I cum,” Akira said, and he began fucking up into Akechi's ass.

Akechi braced one hand against Akira's chest for support and began moving in time with Akira's thrusts. He still had that goddamn sweater vest on, the goody-goody aesthetic clashing with the hard cock bobbing in front of it and the knife he had against Akira's throat. The look in his eyes was close to the one he'd had when Akira had found him standing out in the hallway with that knife, trying to psyche himself up for whatever flavor of murder he'd been planning.

“How does it feel to have your ass filled like this?” Akira said with a grin, but Akechi was already beyond the point where he could even hear words. His grip on the knife was tight, but his eyes were elsewhere, and the edge of the blade slid along Akira's neck. Akira could feel the ooze of blood dripping down his skin onto the pillow.

Thumbs pressing Akechi's jutting hipbones, Akira thrust up hard, and Akechi cried out, so Akira went for that spot again and again as Akechi whimpered on every thrust.

“You're not gonna do it?” Akira egged him on. “Come on. Isn't this your fantasy? Cut my throat, right now.” Akechi's swimming eyes came into focus again to look down at him with a drunk look, and Akira brought himself to the edge just with the thought of Akechi following through with it. “What's the problem?” He grabbed Akechi's cock with one hand and started pumping it. “You love my dick so much already, you just can't bring yourself to do it?”

Akechi bared his teeth as his other hand shot up to Akira's neck, and he dropped the knife to squeeze his fingers around Akira's windpipe instead.

Akira kept fucking him, but very quickly began to get lightheaded, his thrusts growing weaker. Akechi's hands squeezed tighter as he impaled himself down onto Akira's cock. “You stupid arrogant fuck,” he hissed. “I hate you. Die.”

When Akechi slammed down on him again, Akira came with a jolt, and Akechi snatched his hands back so he could furiously jerk himself to completion. Akechi's cum splattered over Akira's stomach and chest as he gasped for air.

When Akira finally got his wind back, he laughed. “That was good,” he said, pushing himself up on his elbows. He reached up to wipe the line of blood off his neck with a finger, licking it off.

Akechi was slumped over him, skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He pushed off Akira's cock, and cum immediately dripped out his ass and down his thigh.

Akira reached out to his bedside table to get a tissue and tried to wipe him off, but Akechi snatched the tissue from his hand and cleaned himself up, then went to put his underwear and pants back on.

“Not up for a cuddle?” Akira teased.

“Shut up. You're not funny,” Akechi snapped back at him as he did up his belt. Akira shrugged and decided to follow suit and get dressed as well.

“So where's my notebook?” Akechi demanded.

“Why the rush?” Akira said, now dressed, and he brushed passed Akechi to leave the room, heading downstairs. “I'm hungry. Let's have something to eat, first.”

Akechi followed him down, walking with that awkward gait of someone who's been fucked a little too hard. “I'm not going to eat with you. Just give me my shit back so I can go.”

In the hall in front of the kitchen, Akira turned around and gave Akechi a look. “I'm hungry, and you could use a meal. You're so skinny.” Akira reached out to slide his hand up Akechi's side underneath his shirt.

Akechi took a step back and away, and Akira noticed then that his stance was awkward and stiff, and he was looking at the wall. Akira's mouth split in a grin and stepped close to Akechi, following him. He had a good guess as to what was going on. “What's wrong? Still got cum leaking out?”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he was on the mark. Akira grabbed him by the front of his belt, tugged it undone, and then slid one hand back down the ass of his pants to feel the sticky mess that was still coming out of his hole.

Akechi's breath hitched as Akira's hand trailed through the cum dripping down his thighs. “Sure is a lot, huh?” He breathed into Akechi's ear as his finger played circles in the mess around Akechi's hole. “And I can feel more still coming out...” Akira's finger pressed in again, and Akechi's ass welcomed his intrusion.

Akira really was hungry, though. He slid his hand back out again, eyes flicking down to the growing bulge in Akechi's pants and then up and the red shame on his face, then went to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

“The downstairs bathroom is the second door behind you,” Akira said as he opened the fridge. He heard footsteps, then a slamming door.

Once Akechi was out again, Akira had two plates and a whole bunch of leftovers from the fridge set out on the table, and was gesturing to Akechi to sit down in the seat next to him.

Seeing Akira actually eating clearly changed Akechi's mind about food, as his stomach growled.

“Come on, just sit down already,” Akira said, and Akechi reluctantly complied. “Here.” Akira dumped half of a Tupperware container of fried rice he'd just microwaved onto his plate, along with some steamed vegetables and some marinated pork.

Akechi's eyes flicked between him and the food in a look that Akira didn't really understand, but he ate. He did not put his hands together beforehand. He started off tentative, but once he got started, he seemed to realize how hungry he was, and started nearly bolting it down.

“Good, right?” Akira said between mouthfuls. “Can't beat mom's cooking.”

Akechi paused in his eating, and Akira regretted saying that. “Oh, uh—sorry, I shouldn't have—”

Akechi swallowed his mouthful. “Oh please, I don't need your pity.”

“I'm just trying to be considerate.”

Akechi barked a mean laugh. “Right. Sure. Please. You don't need to pretend you give a shit.”

Akira was silent. He didn't feel like he had much to say to that.

Akechi continued to eat, saying between mouthfuls, “I didn't even much like my mother, anyway. She did a shit job. She was a terrible cook, you know? She'd never make anything like this,” he gestured to his plate. “Aren't you a lucky boy.” There was so much spite imbued in that one line, Akira had to wince.

“So...” Now that they'd broached this topic, Akira figured he might as well ask the things he'd been wondering. The notebook had said a lot, but had left out a lot. “Where do you live now, if your mom's dead, and your dad's...out of the picture?”

Akechi gave him a nasty smile. “I live by myself, genius.”

“Really?” Akira blinked, turning in his chair to face Akechi. “But you're only, what, seventeen?”

“What does age have to do with it? I can take care of myself,” Akechi said, finishing off his plate. “I don't need to lean on _mommy and daddy._ ”

“It's normal to lean on mommy and daddy when you're a kid.”

“Fuck normal.”

“That's not what your notebook said. _Make me normal,_ was it?”

Akechi turned bright red, his expression twisting up as he glared holes in Akira's skull. “If you ever, _ever_ tell anyone about that—”

“Yeah, you'll fucking kill me, I know.” Akira leaned his elbow on the table, his cheek on his fist. “I think you're fine the way you are, though.”

Akechi stared at him in silence for a full five seconds before bursting out into choking laughter so hard he cried, shoulders shaking as he tilted back in his chair. When he finally calmed down, wiping his eyes, he said, “Thanks for the good laugh,” then stood from his chair, pushing it out from the table with a scrape.

Akira was feeling a little miffed that Akechi wouldn't take him seriously, but decided to let it slide, instead holding out a hand to stop him from leaving the table. “Hold up,” he said, reaching over to another plastic container on the table that had yet to be opened and popping the lid. “There's more.”

“I'm full,” Akechi shook his head, but Akira stood up and pushed him back down into the chair.

“There's always room for dessert.” Akira pulled out a pink-frosted cupcake and thrust it at Akechi.

Akechi looked at it and wrinkled his nose. “I don't like sweets.”

“That's a lie,” Akira said as he peeled the paper off the cupcake. “Everyone likes sweets.” Then he brought it to Akechi's mouth. “C'mon, just take a bite.”

When Akechi tried to turn his head away, Akira grabbed him by the side of the head, fingers threaded in his hair, and pushed the cupcake against his lips, and left with no choice, Akechi opened his mouth and took a bite.

It was obvious from the outset that Akechi had been bullshitting about not liking sweets. Maybe it was a masculinity thing. Well, it was no surprise a guy as girly-looking as him would want to make himself out to be more masculine. His lips devoured the flaky pastry as quickly as Akira could push it into his mouth, tongue occasionally darting out to lick the icing off his face, until he'd finished the whole thing and Akira's fingers were in his mouth, giving him the last of the icing to suck off.

Akira pulled his fingers out with a pop and went to get another cupcake. “C'mon, have another one. You could use a few extra pounds.”

Akechi scowled at him, but this time, he took the cupcake and ate it himself. “These are home-made, huh?” he said after he finished the second one.

“Yeah.”

“Store-bought tastes better,” Akechi mumbled as he reached out for a third one, eyes hidden under his bangs.

x x x

When Akechi had his notebook again and was putting on his shoes to go, Akira asked him, “So why don't you want to be seen with me? On the way here, you were walking a ways behind me the whole time?”

Straightening up, Akechi looked straight at him. “Would _you_ want to be seen with me?”

Akira opened his mouth, but realized he didn't know how to answer.

“And hey.” But now that he'd asked one question, more were coming to him. All that he'd learned from that notebook just made him want to know more, somehow. Akechi fascinated him in a way he couldn't put his finger on. “You know I found your notebook in the bathroom, right? That day, I was in the other stall and I heard you freaking out. What was that about?”

Hand on the doorknob, Akechi paused. “I think you know enough about me,” was all he said, and then he stepped out the door and slammed it in Akira's face.

 


	3. Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just went back and read some of my old fic with a hand over my face going "ahhh I can't believe I fucking wrote this garbage." I orphaned all my old shit in a fit of moody pique, but lately I've been thinking maybe the list of works is for readers' sakes and not mine. So if you like this, you might enjoy my older fic. Most of it is some variety of smut, and akeshu flavored, even when that's not the focus.
> 
> So here's all my old Akechi-related shit, if you weren't aware of it:  
> Akira dominating Goro's ass: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15412878/  
> Non-con personafucking: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387213  
> Humorous fapping: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561660  
> Mediocre Akechi Palace fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15383916  
> Akeshu multi-chapter fix-fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15585642  
> Very stupid shit: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758031  
> Gen with Akihiko from P3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464166  
> Ohya interrogates Akechi: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15726426
> 
> The Ohya one is really the only decent one, imo. But shrug, I guess.

 

Seeing Akechi became a regular thing. Without really planning it, Akira found himself bringing home Akechi every Wednesday, always in the same way: after school, Akechi would follow him like he wasn't following him, Akira would fuck him in his bed, and then they would eat dinner together (his parents hired a cook to make a batch of everything every Sunday, and Akira typically ate all his meals out of Tupperware). At some point, Akira started just sending him home with extra food, too.

Akira's mom had this weird stress thing where she would get up in the middle of the night and bake whenever work was getting to her, but she was also constantly worried about her weight and wouldn't eat any of it, so their fridge would be filled with uneaten baked goods that would inevitably go bad and had to be thrown out. It turned out Akechi was a good outlet for dealing with all these cookies, cupcakes, brownies, and, when his mom was really on edge, fancy shit like macarons. (Akira sometimes wondered why she wouldn't direct her stress into just cooking normal food, but she apparently didn't like doing that, and they had the money to hire someone, so they did.)

But one week the cook was sick and they couldn't find a replacement at the last minute, so instead of food, his parents left him cash every day to go out and buy whatever he wanted for his meals.

“Five thousand yen?!” Akechi gawked at the bills tossed carelessly on the table. “Are you kidding me?!”

Akira picked up the cash and stuffed it in his pocket. “Yeah, it's kind of tight for three meals, huh? I mean, dinner's going to be at least two thousand, so...”

Akechi just stared at him. “God, what the hell do your parents do?”

Akira tilted his head. “They're both doctors, so they basically work all the time. That's why I always have the house to myself.”

“No wonder you live in such a mansion...”

“A mansion?” Akira laughed. “I mean, this place is nice, but it's nothing compared to some of my friends' places.”

“I hate you so fucking much.”

Akira slung an arm over Akechi's shoulders, steering him toward the door. “Come on, you get to enjoy the benefits, don't complain.”

“I'm not your paid whore.” Akechi shook Akira's arm off and stepped down to put on his shoes. “I'll pay for my own dinner.”

“Come on, you don't have to get weird about it.” Akira followed him out the door, reaching out to grab his hand to slow him down. “It's not gonna kill me to pay for it. What do you want, sushi? I'd have to dip into my allowance, but...”

Akechi choked and slapped a hand on his face. “Let's just get curry.”

“Oh, sure, it's been a while. Let's do that.”

Akechi paused a minute, and Akira realized he was still holding Akechi's hand. He dropped it quickly. “Sorry...”

Akechi didn't say anything in reply. He just started walking again, a little slower than before, not pulling too far ahead of Akira. It was almost as if they were walking together. “I know a good place,” he said, and suddenly he was smiling, that same way he had when Akira had seen him chatting with his classmates at school. Seeing him like that when they were together made Akira feel strange.

And then he was like that all the way to the curry shop, where they bought the tickets from the vending machine (Akechi paid for his own) and sat down together side-by-side at the counter.

“Hi, Akechi.” The server, who looked to be a woman in her twenties, greeted him as soon as he sat down, setting out their drinks—water for Akechi, tea for Akira.

“Hi, Remi,” Akechi returned her greeting with a smile and a bob of his head.

Akira's eyes slid over to Akechi's face. “You come here a lot?”

“Oh, all the time!” The server smiled back at them both. “He's never brought a friend before, though. I'm so used to getting you to myself!”

“If you're that lonely, I'll come back next week to see you,” Akechi replied, and Akira had to consciously keep his lower jaw glued in place. Was he _flirting_ with her?

“Looking forward to that will keep me going all week.” She winked at him before whisking into the kitchen.

Akira turned his head toward Akechi. “Are you always like that with her?”

“I'm like this with everybody, Kurusu,” Akechi said pleasantly as he took a sip of his water.

“Except me.”

“Well,” Akechi made this considering pose that couldn't help but ring fake to Akira. “I've been thinking lately that perhaps that's a mistake. We got off on the wrong foot, after all. Perhaps we should start over.”

“You said you hate me _so fucking much_ literally less than an hour ago.”

Akechi's eyes flashed, but the smiled remained pasted on. “That's no reason not to be civil.”

“So why the change of heart?”

Akechi's expression twitched, but held. Tone low, he said, “You want to be out in public, don't you?”

“You could just act natural,” Akira pointed out, leaning on his elbow on the counter.

Akechi looked at him almost as if he felt _sorry_ for him, but only for a second. “Aha-ha,” he laughed, the most unnatural and out-of-place thing he could have done in that moment. “You're very funny, Kurusu.”

“That wasn't a joke.”

“You said you've read _The Catcher in the Rye,_ haven't you?” Akechi drummed his finger on his water glass as he seemingly changed the topic. “You know what it's all about?”

“A miserable teenager having a breakdown.”

“That, too.” A quirk of a wry grin out the corner of his lips. “He has a breakdown because he fails to adapt to the adult world where everyone is, as he calls it, “phony.” He's obsessed with protecting imagined purity and innocence. So he falls apart. If you want to survive, you need to manage.”

“By becoming a phony,” Akira said flatly.

“That's rather mean, Kurusu,” Akechi put on a mock-offended expression, hand posed over his mouth. “I'm nothing but one hundred percent sincerity all the time.” The fact that he could say that with a straight face was a testament to his acting ability. “And besides. Can you really say you're not?”

“What?”

Beaming smile on his face, both hands cupped around his glass in an incongruously cute manner, Akechi said, “Come on, Kurusu. The cool, charismatic, laid-back Akira Kurusu, most popular boy in school, the heartthrob all the girls want. Even second and third year girls have crushes on him. He's friendly to everyone, never says a mean word about anyone. Always ready to help out anyone who needs something. Is that really who you are?”

It was strange, having someone describe him in those terms. “I'm not the most popular boy in school.”

“No need to be so modest, Kurusu. It's common knowledge. That's how people see you.”

“I'm not trying to put on an act.”

“Well, that just means you're a natural at it. I truly envy people like you, who can do it like breathing, without even trying.” Was his grip on his glass a little tight? “You really do have everything.” His voice softened to such a quiet volume, Akira could scarcely hear it as he said, “I just wonder what you're like underneath.”

Akira just shook his head. “You're talking like I'm some school celebrity, but I'm really not. My grades are average, I'm only somewhat athletic. I'm not that good-looking.”

“But you have charisma.” Why did it sound as if Akechi was simultaneously flattering him and accusing him? “People like you. People are drawn to you. That's far more important that some number written on your report card.”

“That's nothing special. Just be yourself and you'll make friends.”

Akechi's smile broadened to fill his whole face. “Of course. That's how it works for you, isn't it?”

Then their food came, interrupting their conversation for a bit while they ate.

“Have you always been like this?” Akira asked, after a while.

“Aha-ha, that's a rather private question, Kurusu.” Akira interpreted that as _fuck you, like hell I'm telling you anything._

“You couldn't have been born two-faced.”

“Indeed, it's something people grow into, with time and maturity.”

Akira glared at him. His condescension was palpable. It was as if he were talking to a little child who understood nothing of the ways of the world. This whole outing had been rubbing him the wrong way, but now he was starting to get really irked.

“So when did you decide who you really are isn't good enough?” Akira said with probably a little too much bite.

He was trying to piss Akechi off. Trying to see a little bit of that genuine anger that had drawn Akira to him in the first place.

Akechi didn't give, though. This was clearly someone who was very practised at sucking it down and smiling. That knowledge made Akira more upset than he really understood.

“I wasn't the one to decide, Kurusu,” he said cryptically, and they didn't speak for the rest of the meal.

x x x

It didn't stop there.

The next time Akechi came over to his house, he had the pleasant and smiling mask on, and even once his hair was mussed and that preppy little sweater-vest was on Akira's floor, that still didn't change.

“Why are you doing this?” Akira asked, hands to either side of Akechi's head as he leaned over him on the bed.

“Doing what?” Akechi said innocently, as if he didn't already fucking know.

“You can't keep being like this forever.”

“This is just who I am, though?” Akechi looked up at him through long lashes. Akira hated the smile on his swollen lips.

Akira hauled him up on the bed, flipped him over, and yanked his pants down to expose his bare ass. Akechi squirmed, but didn't really fight it.

“Let's see if you can hold it in,” Akira said with a sadistic smirk, and he drew his hand back, and smacked.

Akechi's ass had filled out nicely over the course of the past couple of months. He'd been way too skinny to start with, but now, he finally had something worth spanking, each smack making his ass cheeks jiggle pleasantly. It seemed he was the type who took it all to the butt and thighs. Akira couldn't help but admire his own handiwork.

Akechi determinedly resisted making a sound, his head turned against the pillow so Akira could see his smiling profile. Was Akechi goading him on, that little prick?

“I am who I am, I'm afraid,” he said, his mild-mannered tone almost comical compared with the sight of his red, handprinted ass thrust up in the air.

“Bullshit.” Akira let another open-handed smack land on his ripe left asscheek. “I've already had my way with you. I've made your butt like _this_ just so it's good to smack—” _Smack—_ “I think it's about time you go up a size in pants, huh? Your ass looks ready to burst out of them, these days.”

Akechi's grip on the pillow tightened, but his expression remained firm. “Really, you're going to take credit for that?” How the hell could he keep his face even when his ass looked this ripe?

“Yeah, I am,” Akira replied as he unzipped his own pants and lubed himself up. “And I'm taking credit for this, too.”

Akira shoved in all at once with no preamble, and it seemed Akechi couldn't restrain a shudder in response.

“Look at that,” Akira paused to run his hands up Akechi's back, then back down to his ass for another smack. Akechi twitched again. “This is what I've done to you. I know you can't control yourself around me.”

Akira fucked him hard and fast, waiting for just the right moment to reach around and finish him off. Akechi stubbornly stayed silent the whole time, like he was playing some kind of stupid fucking resistance game. This whole thing was such a turn-off, Akira couldn't even cum.

Instead, Akira pulled out to spank him some more, always going for the same spot on the cheek, really winding up for each strike. Akechi buried his face in the pillow and never made a sound.

So Akira did it again. He alternately fucked Akechi and spanked him until both his cheeks were clearly bruised, milking everything out of him until on the fourth orgasm, Akechi came dry. Akira's dick was feeling pretty numb at this point and doubted he would cum, but he wasn't about to stop. This wasn't even about his own pleasure.

When Akira's cock slid in the fifth time, Akechi finally moaned.

“About ready to give in?” Akira said, fingers digging in to the soft flesh of Akechi's hips.

Akechi squirmed away, trying to pull off Akira's dick, but Akira just fought him down, flipping him over onto his back and holding his knees spread wide to fuck him from the front. Akechi pushed against Akira's hips with both hands, straining, trying to keep him from hitting too deep, but Akira grabbed his arms by the wrists and held them both straight in front of him as he railed Akechi's raw ass.

“Don't run from me,” Akira said. If he'd had a moment, maybe he would have been surprised by his own force, but he was so occupied with Akechi, he couldn't think about anything else.

Akechi was biting his lip, eyes squeezed tight. He wasn't smiling anymore, but he wasn't making any sound, either.

“I'm gonna make you cum again,” Akira told him, feeling a snarl on his own lips. “I'm gonna rip it out of you whether you like it or not.”

Hands gripped tight enough that Akechi's wrists went white around his fingers, Akira pounded him hard enough to make the bed shake. He could feel Akechi tighten hot around him. “Now give it to me,” he hissed. “Cum on my cock. Show me I _own_ you.”

Akira thrust deep, feeling Akechi squeeze around him like a vise as his whole body shuddered. And finally, _finally_ Akechi made a sound, a breathy, broken noise of half-pain, half pleasure that went on as Akira fucked him through his shaking, and Akira kept going, taking full advantage of the post-orgasm sensitivity to make him moan harder.

“You like this, don't you?” Akira murmured, enraptured by the sight of Akechi writhing and bucking beneath him. “There's nothing you want more.”

Akechi didn't answer—probably couldn't. The shudders of his orgasm just turned into something else, shoulders trembling as he tried to turn his head away to hide his face, twisted up and red. The next time he cried out, his voice sounded like a sob.

When the tears started streaming down his face, Akira came inside him hard enough he felt he might black out.

Akira rode it out, rocking inside Akechi as he cried, loud and ugly, underneath him. When he could finally catch his breath again, he pulled Akechi up and into his arms—or tried to.

“Fuck you,” Akechi choked, hand pushing Akira's face away.

“That sounds more like you,” Akira smirked under his palm.

“I hate you.”

“That's what I like about you.” Akira pushed Akechi's hand away, bringing him into his arms again. Akechi fought, but Akira squeezed hard, holding Akechi's face against his neck and refusing to let go as Akechi sobbed against him.

“You...fucking...” Akechi never finished what he was trying to say. But he stopped trying to fight Akira. “Why...why are you doing this?” He said, finally, between sobs. “You don't need me to get laid. You could fuck anyone you want.”

Akira considered for a moment. “You fascinate me, that's all.”

“Glad to know I'm _entertaining_ for you.” That one line was dripping enough poison to take out a bear.

Akira frowned. He didn't much like that evaluation of his interests. Maybe his interest weren't pure, but Akechi wasn't some monkey in a cage he was watching for fun. “I like you.”

“Save your bullshit for someone who'll buy it,” Akechi said, but the fact that he was clinging to Akira's uniform shirt and sobbing into his collar sort of robbed the bite from it.

“I do,” Akira insisted, running his hand through Akechi's hair, and he lay them both down on the bed.

Akechi had always resisted any forms of intimacy, but now, he seemed exhausted, laying close by Akira's shoulder as he stroked Akechi's side absently.

“You really are beautiful,” Akira murmured, and Akechi closed his eyes.

x x x

Akechi seemed to pull himself together a little once his clothes were on, but he still looked obviously like he'd been crying.

“Hey,” Akira stopped him before he was about to leave. “Don't forget the usual.” He handed Akechi a bag full of plastic containers of food.

Akechi looked down at them as if he were conflicted. “Stop doing this.”

“Why? It doesn't cost me anything. And you need it. I put a little extra present in there, this time.”

“I don't want anything from you.”

“Now that's a lie.”

Akechi closed his eyes and turned around. “I'll see you later, Kurusu.”

But the next time Akira texted him, he didn't answer.

x x x

By the time the next Wednesday rolled around, Akechi still wasn't replying to his messages, to Akira decided to drop it and hang out with his friends instead.

Akira had caught sight of Akechi in the halls a couple of times over the course of the week, but each time, Akechi had pretended like he didn't know Akira, and so Akira had returned the favor. The two of them operated in their own separate worlds.

So Akira went to hang out with some friends, going to karaoke and then a cafe afterward. Hanging out with these people was so easy, it just let all the tension pour out of him. It was nothing like being around Akechi. He made some jokes, flirted a little, and when the time came to part ways, he took one of his girlfriends back to his place.

She was a girl he got along with rather well and fucked on the regular. She had a fun-loving personality and a great sense of humor, but had a realistic attitude and didn't get clingy. She was probably fucking other guys, but they both operated on a sort of “don't ask don't tell” basis in that regard. Most of all, she gave great head.

He was burying his face in her tits (an area in which Akechi was sadly lacking) when it struck him how very unlike Akechi she was. Sex with her was fun, a good time, but you'd forget about it once it was over.

Sex with Akechi was like holding down a howling beast that scratched the shit out of you, the kind you knew might kill you if you fucked it up. It got his pulse racing in a weird way, but afterwards he'd always feel high-strung and jumpy. Akechi got into him somewhere weird, touched something inside him he didn't understand. It made him someone else. And maybe he was a little uneasy about that.

When his girlfriend went down on him and Akira was stroking her hair with one hand, the long scar Akechi had left on his forearm caught his eye.

That was when his phone rang.

It was close at hand, so Akira reached over to grab it, checking the screen. _Akechi._ What was up? He never called. He usually just texted.

The girl gave him a questioning look. “No no, don't stop,” Akira said with a naughty grin, and she grinned back at him over his cock.

“Hello?” Akira answered the phone.

“Kurusu,” came Akechi's smooth voice over the phone. “I realize it's late, but I was wondering...” he trailed off.

The girl took his cock in all the way to the back of her throat, her nose brushing his stomach, and Akira swallowed and breathed out before speaking. “What is it, Akechi?”

Silence on the other end. Akira looked down at the girl sucking like a champ, which was a mistake, because he nearly came right there. She was really too damn good at this. He pressed his free hand over his mouth, and the corners of her eyes crinkled.

“Actually, never mind,” Akechi said, his tone pleasant and honeyed. “I'll talk to you another time, Kurusu.” Then he hung up.

Akira immediately let out a long breath, hips twitching into the girl's mouth. He was so fucking close.

Twining both hands in her hair, he came down her throat, but for some reason, he was staring at that scar on his forearm the whole time.

 


	4. Drawing Lines

 

Kurusu following him out the door, taking his hand. That touch. Why had it gotten to him like it did?

Kurusu had already touched just about every part of his body, inside and out, and it had meant nothing to him, but that one moment he'd reached out to take Goro's hand outside his house had made his pulse pound harder than the most intense orgasm.

It wasn't as if he actually wanted to hold hands with Kurusu in public. That would be the worst kind of social suicide, and even if Kurusu had been a girl, he wouldn't have done it. Just thinking about the sort of shameless couples who made a show of their affection on the train made him want to vomit. Have some self-respect.

But, _but._ As a fantasy. In his mind.

Goro drew a picture of him in his notebook.

 ~~ _What if he doesn't want to be seen with me_~~ Goro didn't want to be seen with him, anyway.

x x x

Changes had to be made. Lines had to be drawn. This whole thing had been a mess from the start. Kurusu hadn't really given him a choice, but clearly Goro made all the wrong choices anyway. ~~Maybe he needed someone keeping him in line~~ no, he needed to be in control. That was the root of all his problems these days, wasn't it?

After that, he could have walked away, though.

Goro kept going back over his decisions, wondering where he had gone wrong. Well, if he kept going back and back _that_ would never end. There were lots of things that were objectively his fault, despite the kind lies people had tried to tell him.

But when it came to these most recent events, the first mistake had certainly been dropping that notebook. The second mistake had been not that first time in the bathroom, not that second time at his house, but the third time, when he'd had the notebook, he'd had Kurusu's promise that he wouldn't tell, and yet he'd gone back, anyway.

Because he wanted sex, obviously. He'd gone crawling into that arrogant asshole's bed because he just _really did want his cock that much._ He liked the way Kurusu took what he wanted as if he knew (well, he'd read the notebook, he did know, a fact that tortured Goro just about every waking minute). He liked the way Kurusu hurt him. He was probably sick for wanting all of this, but at least he could point the finger at Kurusu for doing it instead of him. It was always nice to have someone else to blame.

He would never have bought it if Kurusu had been too kind. If Kurusu had showed him concern and sympathy instead of manipulated him into sex, Goro would have dropped him then and there for being a liar and a phony. But Kurusu had been a shit, and that had brought his guard down, given Goro permission to be a shit, and then that had snowballed into this. He should never have shown Kurusu honesty in the first place. _(But was that honesty?)_

He told himself that if Kurusu wanted into his head, that should only be in the bedroom. Once Kurusu touched him outside of the house, that was a line.

And acting pleasant around him had been such a relief, like finally putting an bandage over the kind of bone-deep abrasion you get from skidding along the cement at highway speed. And yet, Kurusu hadn't allowed that. He'd wanted everything off, off off, digging his fingernails into raw skin to rip off all the necrotic tissue that Goro had left festering for years.

Just remembering how he'd cried in Kurusu's arms made him shake.

“ _Don't run from me.”_

He couldn't. Not anymore.

“ _You like this, don't you? There's nothing you want more.”_

Kurusu wouldn't let him lie about anything—not even that.

 _Once everything is torn away from you, whatever's left is the truth._ This was a fact Goro knew to be true on an intimate level.

And he wanted Kurusu tearing it all away from him.

He was stupidly, foolishly in love with Akira Kurusu, this boy he hardly knew, and he couldn't even lie to himself about that, now.

x x x

The washroom in his apartment was small, the mirror placed a little too low for him, so he had to hunch over and lean on the sink to be at the right height for it to frame his face.

Goro thought, as always, about doing something dramatic like punching the mirror, but that would be a stupid waste, and he didn't want to get in trouble with his landlord. So he just thought about it.

He thought about punching the mirror. He thought about grabbing Kurusu by the collar and punching his face bloody.

He thought about that a lot.

The thing about these Kurusu fantasies was that they got derailed so quickly. They went backwards. He'd start off killing Kurusu with his hands, then torturing him with a knife, and then he'd be punching Kurusu and listening to him beg, then kissing his bloodied face with tongue and pushing his cock into that swollen mouth.

And then here he was back here again, staring into the mirror at this miserably familiar face.

His hair was crackly with product, his eyes, shadowed in an unattractive way he knew made him look tired (he was always tired. Concealer could hide that). His hair needed a cut. It was not, in fact, a short cut grown out; he deliberately got it cut a certain way, and took great pains to maintain his hair. This was the kind of thing—a nice haircut, clothes that fit right, the right smile—that could transform him in the eyes of others.

In the eyes of some, anyway.

It had worked for a while. He'd tried to start over in high school, to wipe the slate clean and become a new person. And it had been a real high, seeing people intimidated by him, people think he was cool, people whisper about how smart he was, how jealous they were of what he could do without trying _(he was trying. But they never needed to know)._

But it was impossible to wipe the slate truly clean. Someone would know, people would find out, and it would get spread around. He'd thought he could hide what a loser and a freak he'd been in middle school. He'd thought he could remake himself.

But he could never maintain the image he wanted: admirable, desirable, perfect. People at school were finding out about him, and not just Kurusu. That was what he'd been screaming about in the bathroom that day.

He thought about doing something dramatic like cutting off his hair. Really, didn't need any more reminders of how like his mother he was. But making a show of your pain never got you anywhere. People would just find you uncomfortable or offputting. Society wanted you to hide it; that was simply what the world demanded.

_Not him, though._

Who knew what was really going on in his head, though?

Gaze shifting to the gift he'd thrown in the bathroom trash, he scowled. Goro would eat the food Kurusu gave him because that was just practical, it was stupid to waste food, but he wasn't going to take gifts from him like a whore. What the hell was this, jewellery? Kurusu really did think of him as a girl.

...Maybe he should pawn it, at least.

He fished the box out of the trash and popped open the little box. It was a watch, at least (something like a necklace would have been utterly humiliating), but any masculinity points that may have given it were subtracted by the little cupcakes on its face. It was cute, but Goro wasn't about to admit that to himself.

Goro dropped it back in the trash, then fished it out again, then tossed it under the bathroom sink so he didn't have to look at it.

Crouched in front of the bathroom cabinet, he lowered his face to his knees.

_I really am just like her._

Same face.

_Check._

Same crazy.

_Check._

Whore to some asshole.

_Check._

Suicide.

_...Check? Soon enough._

_She should have just done the world a favor and had an abortion._

x x x

“ _I realize it's late, but I was wondering...” ...if I could see you. I want to see you._

_I want to see you._

Goro didn't really follow Kurusu around at school. He had, a little, before. He had a long-standing habit of watching people—to see how they acted, to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. And Akira Kurusu was a prime example. Goro had watched him, trying to figure out just what sort of posture, just what sort of quip, just what sort of laugh would get him what he wanted out of people.

The answers were not forthcoming.

Goro wouldn't call himself a stalker. He just knew every moment of Kurusu's schedule and placed himself in positions where he would happen to see him walk by, just to get a glimpse.

It really was masochistic. Goro hated seeing him with his friends, hated the reminder of Kurusu's position in the social hierarchy relative to his own _(He'd tried, he'd tried to change things. But it really was impossible. A new coat of paint couldn't hide the rotten interior)_. He hated seeing how easy he was with other boys and with girls. He would sometimes imagine gunning them all down like in a video game. Too bad it was too hard to get that shit in Japan. Wouldn't it be nice to shoot up the school, American-style? It was a regular pastime for him to imagine the heads of passers-by exploding under machine gun fire, with added sound effects. _Braka-braka-braka-braka._ Real good stress relief.

Casually leaning against a vending machine in its shadow, book he was supposed to be studying from but honestly wasn't really reading anymore _(it was hard to care about his grades anymore. He'd tried to read an entire cram-school syllabus on his own because he couldn't afford to go, but he was falling behind. Everything was falling behind.)_ in hand, Goro watched Akira have lunch with his friends. They were the perfect stereotype of the idyllic teen experience, sitting around a bench on the side of the sports field in the bright, cheery sunlight, talking and fooling around and laughing. It was the sort of thing you'd look back on with nostalgia once you were a salaryman working 70-hour weeks while sucking your boss's dick to avoid more unpaid overtime.

Fucking disgusting.

While Goro was having fantasies, though, he might as well take it all the way. Why not bust in there with magic and a laser sword and just start slicing people in half and blowing them up? Just filling this whole grassy field with organs and viscera. Or what would a nuclear-blast level explosion leave of this place? That would have the benefit of wiping out Goro, too, but it would lack some of the juicy intimacy of stabbing everyone he hated personally.

And there were a lot of people he hated. Some, for more serious reasons, some, for pettier reasons, and some for no reason at all. And at the very top of the list these days, edging out his father, even, was Akira Kurusu.

Goro wasn't so naive as to believe he was anything but a sexual outlet to Kurusu.

But still, he'd thought Kurusu wasn't so crass as to rub it in his face and assume he wouldn't notice.

“...Fuck.” Shading a hand over his eyes for a moment, Goro headed for the bathroom where he usually went for this.

The moment his painfully hard cock was free from his pants, he leaned into the stall door to jerk himself off.

He thought of Kurusu getting sucked off over the phone, the arrogant smirk he'd wear, looking down on whoever that girl was. And the worst part was, the humiliation of it just got him off more. He imagined Kurusu saying, _she sucks dick better than you_ , then bit the side of his palm to keep himself from moaning.

_Aha-ha, do you know I've been fucking Goro Akechi? He's such a desperate slut._

_Oh, no way, that freak? Ew, way to lower your standards._

_He's just entertaining. He'll let me do anything, you know. He makes a good pet._

_Ha-ha! You're so mean, Akira._

_Not to you. Just to those who deserve it._

It was a crazy conversation to imagine, but he couldn't help half-believe that Kurusu had probably said something like that, and the idea of those words coming out of Kurusu's mouth had him shooting his load into his hand in under a minute. At the very least, it was obvious that Kurusu looked down on him and pitied him, and saw him as nothing more than a convenient fuck.

Goro wiped his hand on some toilet paper, tossed it in the toilet, and turned around to lean against the door.

And so that brought him here, where just about every day he thought about murdering Kurusu and everyone who had ever fucked him, touched him, flirted with him, spoken to him, or _looked_ at him.

_I want to invade your every waking moment, the way you've done to me._

_I want to hurt you like you hurt me._

_I want to destroy your life._

x x x

The next Wednesday, Goro went to his house, as usual.

Was Kurusu doing things differently, or was Goro feelings things differently?

It started out with a kiss, which was fine enough. Kurusu's tongue explored his mouth, his lips trailed their way down his neck.

The first thing to go wrong was Kurusu taking his hand. That reminded him of when he'd done that just a couple weeks ago. But this time he laced their fingers together, squeezing as he walked Goro backward toward the bed.

Goro thought about saying something nasty about what a slut he was, but he couldn't think of any way to say it that didn't sound like desperate, needy clinging.

But the gentleness of his hands was the biggest lie of all. So once Kurusu had him pressed down against the bed, Goro pushed those hands away and bit Kurusu's lip, hard.

Kurusu jerked away, startled. He touched his lip. Goro was pleasantly surprised to find it was bleeding.

It was that easy to make someone bleed, huh?

“Stop messing around and fuck me,” Goro hissed.

“What? I just—”

“You're treating me like a girl.”

Kurusu was looking straight at him, and it hurt. “It's just because last time...”

Goro lunged up, grabbing him by the hair and yanking hard so he could flip them over. Kurusu stared up at him with wide eyes as Goro straddled him. “Don't you dare fucking feel sorry for me.”

“...I was worried I went too far.”

Goro laughed in his face. “You didn't go nearly far enough.” He would much rather Kurusu have destroyed his body and left his heart untouched.

“I should have let you act how you want with me. It just felt like you were pushing me away. I like it when you're honest with me.”

Goro was silent a moment, the heel of his palm still pressing Kurusu's forehead against the bed.

“Being with you is exciting to me. I've never met anyone as intense as you. I like how you push me, and let me push you. But I don't know where the line is. I don't know where I want to stop, or where you want to stop. I want to hurt you, but I...don't.”

Kurusu brought his hand up to Goro's face, and Goro shivered, frozen. His heart was in his throat, a feeling he would probably label as something close to terror. Why was Kurusu talking like this? This wasn't part of the rules.

It was because Goro had cried. It was because of his weakness. This was his fault.

“I think I love you,” Kurusu said.

Goro punched him in the face.

He wound up for another swing, but Kurusu blocked his face with his forearms.

Grabbing Kurusu by the hair, tossing him onto the floor, then kicking him there, Goro discovered that Kurusu didn't have much experience in the realm of fistfights. He really had grown up coddled, hadn't he? He'd never had to defend himself, he'd never had to prove himself to get to where he was. He just crossed his arms over his face and took it.

Goro stopped, and Kurusu's arms came away from his face, looking up at him.

Kurusu wasn't even scared. He didn't even look like he was hurt. That was just fucking _pity,_ wasn't it? That was what Kurusu really thought of him, in the end. There was no respect for him, for his experience. Kurusu identified himself as superior in the hierarchy, and that was that.

“No, you don't,” Goro spat. “You've never felt anything real in your life. You don't know anything. You've never been challenged, you've never had to struggle. You've never felt any desire more powerful than mild interest, because that's all you ever needed to get what you want. When it's real, it consumes everything about you, and you'll do whatever it takes to get it. It's not real unless it _hurts_.” Goro kicked him in the side again, and Kurusu cringed away, curling up. “ _That's_ real.” Goro realized he was shaking, but he wasn't sure why.

He knelt down on the floor and hauled Kurusu up by his collar, bringing their faces close. “Now fuck me. And make it hurt.”

Kurusu closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, they had the look Goro wanted.

x x x

The blindfold was new.

Kurusu stripped him and tied him to his desk chair, hands behind the back of his chair, legs spread and tied to the chair legs, buttplug in his ass, all without saying a word.

It was a relief not to have to see his face. It was a relief not to have to hear his voice.

There was some rustling, then a little click. A cold pinch on his nipple, and Goro gasped. Then a second, on the other side. Kurusu flicked each one, wiggling them up and down.

He felt plastic press against his lips, and then a ball gag was pulled into his mouth. This was another relief. There would be no conversation, then. No obligation to answer anything.

There was another click as the buttplug was turned on, and a moment after that, the first clip pinched his ball sac.

It hurt less than Goro would have thought. Kurusu added more, circling around his balls; one clips, two clips, three clips, four. If he could have spoken, Goro would have goaded him for being too gentle, for not taking it far enough. Kurusu's hand ghosted up his hardening cock, stroked it gently a few times. Goro chuckled into the ball gag.

The sensation of Kurusu's hand was gone. There was a long pause when Kurusu didn't touch him at all, and Goro remained waiting.

Then Kurusu slapped his cock.

Goro jolted in the chair with a smothered yelp at the sudden pain. Kurusu did it again, from the other side, and wiggled one of the nipple clamps, too, while he was at it. This hurt more than when he'd put it on, the sharp sting of it radiating outward and sending shockwaves down to his groin.

Kurusu started jerking him again, his grasp warm and firm around Goro's dick as he slowly worked him up. As Goro's balls tightened, the clamps there pulled more at his skin. And then, right when Goro thought he was just about to cum, Kurusu let go and slapped his dick again, harder this time, and Goro moaned into the gag.

“Does this hurt enough for you?” Kurusu spoke, finally, voice low. It took Goro a moment to process what he was saying.

“Does this fucking hurt enough for you?” Kurusu repeated, and then his hand was grabbing Goro's chin with a too-tight grip.

Goro paused a moment, became aware of his breathing. It was shallow.

He shook his head.

Kurusu backhanded him in the face, tightened each one of the six clamps just slightly one by one, then started jerking him again.

The second time Kurusu denied him, he took the clamp off his right nipple, and this hurt a fuck of a lot more than when he'd put it on.

Kurusu asked him again. “Does this hurt enough for you?”

Goro shook his head.

Kurusu tightened all the remaining clamps.

The third time Kurusu denied him, he said, “How much do I have to hurt you before you'll believe me?”

This had to be a rhetorical question. Goro was physically incapable of answering.

“I love you,” Kurusu said as he took the clamp of Goro's left nipple. Whimpering into the gag, Goro couldn't help but drool.

His entire groin was aching, by this point, but when Kurusu's hand wrapped around him again, his hips pushed as far as they could go into his hand, seeking more. Kurusu took him up to the edge, then dropped him there, plucking off the first of the clips under his balls, and Goro screamed around the gag.

“I love you. Does this hurt enough for you?”

Goro took a moment to catch his breath. Then shook his head.

On the next clip, Goro started crying.

“I love you. Does this hurt enough for you?”

Goro shook his head.

On the second-to-last clip, Goro was sobbing.

“I love you. Does this hurt enough for you?”

Goro shook his head.

Fingers flicking the final clip, Kurusu seemed to pause. His other hand was fisted around Goro's cock, jerking at the sort of slow pace that would keep him hanging there as long as possible. Goro's entire body was tense, his hands fisted where they were tied behind his back.

“...It'll never be enough for you, will it?” Goro heard him murmur, somewhere far away. He couldn't really absorb what was being said. This was about as comprehensible to him as birdsong.

There was a tug at the back of his head, and the ball gag fell out of his mouth, bouncing off his thigh to clack onto the floor.

“How much pain is enough to make you believe this is real?” Kurusu's lips were at his ear, his hand on Goro's cock tortuously slow. The butt plug in his ass maintained its low rumbling, just barely tickling his prostate. Everything hurt. Goro couldn't think.

“If you kill me,” Goro muttered.

Kurusu's hand sped up, his grip tightening, and Goro thrust into his grasp, fucking into his hand on pure instinct, and when he finally, _finally_ came with a heave and a shudder, Kurusu took off the final clip and kissed him, and Goro sobbed into his mouth.

x x x

Kurusu hadn't even cum, but he passed out in his bed as if he were the exhausted one. Half-dressed, Goro sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor, trying not to think about how Kurusu had wiped Goro's face after with a damp cloth, how Kurusu had kissed his bruised nipples and caressed his cheeks.

His eyes slid over to Kurusu's phone, lying on the bedside table.

Impulsively, he picked it up.

Kurusu was the kind of idiot who didn't lock his phone, of course. Goro browsed through his social media, his instant messaging. This was definitely yet another form of masochism. Here it was, the painful reminder of Kurusu's perfect life. The conversations he had with his friends were almost comical in their stereotypical nature. Of course he was sexting at least eight girls, from the look of it. Goro had known he slept around, but this was actually impressive. How the hell did he juggle them all?

The strange thing was that the sexting bothered him a hell of a lot less than his casual friendships with other boys who Goro knew Kurusu would never fuck, or at least not openly, because that would hurt his flawless image. He found himself counting the texts, comparing them with how often Kurusu texted him. Kurusu didn't use that emote with him. Kurusu didn't share those pictures with him. Kurusu didn't make those jokes with him.

He browsed through Kurusu's photos. Pictures of friends. Lots of pictures of friends. Oh, how much fun they were having. Pictures of people Goro assumed were his parents. How sweet they all looked. There were some nudes of girls, some dick picks of what Goro recognized as Kurusu's own dick, and a few of someone else's.

Slowly, and with careful, cold calculation, Goro started sending messages from Kurusu's phone.

To a couple of his guy friends, Goro sent dick pics. To a girl who messaged him with, _I hope I'm not annoying you too much with all this texting,_ Goro replied, _Yeah, you kind of are, actually._ He scrolled back through texting history to find information girls had told Kurusu in confidence and spread it around to other people on his contacts list. To one boy who seemed like a particularly brutish type, Goro texted a love confession.

Based on whatever information he could glean about each of the people in Kurusu's phone, Goro calculated what would be most likely to destroy their relationship with him and sent it.

Then he went home.

x x x

Though Goro did fantasize about scrawling _Akira Kurusu is a faggot_ on the chalkboard of his classroom, he knew that sort of thing really only worked up until the second year of middle school (Goro had had it done to him enough times to know).

Instead, when the rumormill started turning, Goro just smoothly pushed it along.

 _Oh, have you heard about what Akira Kurusu said?_ A girl might say. And Goro would act all shocked, but then add on additional information—that was entirely fabricated, of course.

Akira Kurusu was popular enough to get the other grades buzzing about him, after all, and now all that sweet, sweet popularity was coming back to bite him in the ass.

Goro had done similar things to people before, back in middle school, but he hadn't really had the opportunity or social capital then to really make it work. So it was a shock—an absolutely delightful shock when he saw in very clear, visible terms, the crowd of friends that always surrounded Kurusu slowly beginning to thin.

During this time, Kurusu texted him a few times, just some basic _hey what are you doing this Wednesday_ sort of messages, but Goro ignored them. He had something else that got him off harder, now: watching Akira Kurusu's life fall apart.

On one occasion, Goro happened to walk past him in the hallway. For once, Kurusu was alone. It had felt like he'd always been surrounded by a crowd, but now, that had been stripped away from him. He was looking at the floor, as if his mind were somewhere else.

When they crossed paths, Kurusu's head jerked up as he turned to look at him. “Akechi—”

But Goro walked right on by, a toothy smile coming to his lips when he strode by Kurusu. Fuck, was this what it felt like to have power? Goro had done this. _Goro had done this._

And then, about a month after Goro had first sent all those messages, it happened. An unbelievable stroke of luck. To be honest, Goro had no clue what had gone on. It was away from school, and all he ever heard afterwards were the rumors.

_Akira Kurusu has been arrested for assault!_

_Oh my god, did you hear? I never though he was the type, but lately I've been hearing..._

_I mean, I heard he beat up a kid at his old school, but his parents hushed it up with money._ That was one Goro had started. He was rather proud of it. Many of the lies he'd spread had multiplied and distorted into something else, but that one was still intact.

The entire fucking school was grinding Akira Kurusu into the dust, all because of what Goro had started. This assault charge was just the icing on the cake.

Goro just about danced around his apartment that night, laughing to himself.

“Fucking take _that,_ Akira Kurusu! What does it feel like to get a taste of shit? Not so full of yourself now, huh?” he yelled at the wall.

Of course, Kurusu couldn't answer him.

Kurusu never came back to school.

About a week later, Wednesday rolled around again, and Goro flipped open his phone out of habit.

That was when he remembered.

_Oh, yeah. Before Kurusu, I had nothing, didn't I?_

_I have..._

_nothing._

 


	5. Whatever's Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end of chapter notes for TW. If you don't want spoilers, then don't look.

 

_I'm just going there to see what's happened to him. Rub it in a little._

Goro checked himself in the mirror of the school bathroom, tightened his uniform tie, prodded his hair a little. Did he look like trash? He wasn't even sure anymore.

He'd called the police station beforehand, saying he was a friend (ha-ha) and just wanted to visit Akira Kurusu, if that was allowed. And apparently it was. So they'd told him where he was being held.

“I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. It's awful,” Goro muttered to himself. Which reminded him that he never had finished that book. He was fairly sure he'd lost it, in fact. Oh, well.

The train ride there was uneventful, and Goro was waved into the visiting room where Kurusu sat on the other side of some reinforced plastic, wearing an unflattering jumpsuit and missing his fake glasses.

When Goro walked in, Kurusu leaped out of his chair and pressed his hands against the glass, and Goro flinched, but Kurusu was only smiling the most genuine smile Goro had ever seen out of him. “Akechi!”

Not knowing how to respond, Goro sat down stiffly in the chair provided for him.

Kurusu scooted his chair forward so he could get as close as possible, fingers curled around the edge of the countertop under the glass panel. “I'm so glad to see you! I can't believe you came. I thought maybe...” He looked down and to the side, gnawed his lip a little. “I'm just...I'm just really glad you're here.”

Goro didn't have to be a people expert to tell that Kurusu was under a lot of stress. There were shadows under his eyes, and he was breaking out along his hairline.

“Oh...ha-ha...” Goro couldn't squeeze out anything other than an awkward laugh. He'd envisioned this whole scenario where Kurusu was furious with him and Goro rubbed it in and told him how pathetic he was, but now that it wasn't happening, he didn't know how to behave.

Kurusu apparently had a lot to say, though, so Goro didn't need to talk. “You're the only one who's come to visit me, you know? Aside from my parents, and they're...” Kurusu shook his head. “Nobody believes me, after what happened. And there's nothing for me to do here, so all I can do is think...so I've been thinking. You know, maybe you were right—about everything. Maybe I was playing a role. Maybe everyone else is, too. I don't know what's real anymore. I thought I had a life, but now it's gone. And now that everyone else has fucked off on me...” Kurusu looked up straight into Goro's eyes, and Goro was pierced under his gaze like a shuddering mouse waiting for the dive. “You're the only real friend I have. So I'm really glad you're here, Akechi.”

Goro's heart beat about a thousand miles a second. He was sweating and desperately trying not to shake. _Fuck, say something._ _Tell him what you did. But he has to know. It was so transparent!_

_Why the fuck don't you hate me? Hate me! Crush me!_

Goro's mouth opened, but all that came out was wind.

So he did the only thing he could do. He smiled.

“Aha-ha...” Goro pushed his hair behind his ear, eyes flicking away from Kurusu's. He couldn't stand to look at that. “I'm glad you feel that way, Kurusu.”

Goro tried to make himself look away, but his eyes kept getting pulled toward Kurusu, and he saw the hurt he knew would be there.

“ _I like it when you're honest with me.”_

 _But I can't. I_ _**can't.**_

“I'd like to think of us as good friends.” Goro's hands sat on his lap, very carefully not fisted.

Kurusu slumped a little in his seat, looking down. “Did you...did you like the present I gave you?”

Goro stared into the space a little to the left of Kurusu's head, back stock-straight. It was hard to keep his thoughts straight and in line where they should be. “Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad,” he muttered, probably too quietly for Kurusu to hear.

“Hmm?”

“It was really nice,” Goro told him. “I appreciate it. Thank you, Kurusu.”

Kurusu was still looking down at the counter where his fingers were fidgeting. “You could call me Akira, if you want.”

Goro laughed again, and oh, he hated that sound, now. “I don't know, it can be kind of hard to make the switch once you're used to calling someone something, you know?”

“...Yeah. I get that.” Kurusu wasn't looking at him. And Goro didn't want him looking. But he also did. But he didn't.

“Anyway,” Kurusu continued, “They're going to let me out for a probationary period. But I've been expelled, so...I have to go to another school. Probably in Tokyo. So... I don't know when I'll see you again.”

“Oh...I see.” Goro felt like he was going to be sick.

“I just...I want you to know that I didn't do it. I need at least one person to believe me. I didn't even touch the guy. He was harassing this woman and I told him to back off, and he was so drunk, he fell on his own ass. But he's got money and he's some fancy-ass politician, so he got me arrested because he was pissed.”

Maybe, at another time, Goro would have had some thoughts along the lines of _now you get how the world works? About fucking time,_ but he couldn't, now. His mind was frozen.

Kurusu's fist came down on the counter. “I can't believe a guy like that is a representative in the Diet! I wish I really had hit him. I'd like to punch him in those stupid orange-tinted glasses of his.”

Goro blinked, head slowly raising. “Orange-tinted glasses?”

“Yeah, he was like...” Kurusu made some strange descriptive gestures. “Bald, with a goatee, and these really dumb-looking glasses. Or sunglasses? I never heard his name that night, and his identity's been protected, but I think I heard some of the cops calling him like...Shi...?” Kurusu trailed off, thinking.

“Masayoshi Shido,” Goro muttered numbly.

“Yeah, that's it!” Kurusu pointed a finger at him. “Do you know—”

Goro cut him off with the scrape of his chair as he stood. “I just realized I need to be somewhere,” he said with a broad smile that he knew wasn't selling that lie. “Goodbye, Kurusu.” And he strode out of the room as quickly as possible, turning his head away from what he knew would be inevitable hurt on Kurusu's face.

x x x

Goro managed to hold it together until he got home, where he vomited all the anxiety he'd been holding in down the toilet.

_Thanks for working him over, making things easier for me. What was your name? Ake...hmm? Oh well, doesn't matter, anyway. Have a nice life, kid._

Goro leaned his face on the cool porcelain of the toilet, tasting bile in his mouth as his mind organized a collection of fragmented conversations without his permission.

Now that he didn't have any guardians or institution staff to talk shit about him behind his back, Goro fulfilled that role quite perfectly by himself.

_What a chip off the old block. He'd have real potential as a politician, if anyone actually liked him. He's got the fake smile down, and he's great at tearing down the competition._

And then there was the kind of thing the nice ones said, whenever Goro had screamed at another kid, whenever Goro had made one cry.

_Oh...I'm so disappointed, Goro... That was really cruel._

He preferred it when they were nasty.

He preferred it when Kurusu was nasty.

Goro knocked his forehead against the toilet and just sat there for a couple of hours.

x x x

He planned the whole thing carefully, not that there was much to plan.

He went to school like normal, that morning, sat through his classes obediently. And then when class was over, he checked his watch, as if he had somewhere to be, and left, going up the stairs to the landing in front of the roof. The trick to getting up here was simply that the lock was broken, and if you rattled it a bit, it would come undone. So he gave it a good rattle and then left it hanging off the metal fixture, stepping out into the bright sunlight.

The lack of fence here made it easier.

He remembered meeting Kurusu up here. Kurusu probably didn't remember—it had just been for a few moments, and they hadn't spoken or anything. But Goro remembered every detail of Kurusu's face as he'd walked by.

So, this place was fitting.

He stopped for a long while, at the edge. What he hadn't expected was that people could see him so easily from below, that they were gathering to watch. He hugged his notebook to his chest for a moment, then placed it down on at his feet, slipping out of his shoes as he stepped up onto the ridge that surrounded the roof.

People were looking up, pointing, calling out. He couldn't really hear what they were saying, not like it mattered.

Oh, he always had loved attention. This was almost like being on TV. He remembered when he was little, he'd dreamed of being a TV celebrity—maybe a comedian, maybe an actor or a singer, it didn't really matter what, as long as eyes were on him, as long as they all loved him. Of course, common sense had brought an end to that ambition.

But now, here he was, with everyone looking and going ohh and ahh. A fitting final moment.

He reached up with one finger to trace the circle of the glass face of the watch around his wrist.

x x x

After his release, Akira had to go back to his old school to pick up his things from his desk, plus a bunch of paperwork related to his expulsion. It was awkward as hell, but it had to be done, and part of him hoped that he might run into Akechi there, and he could say something. Their last conversation had ended so abruptly, Akira didn't know what to think.

Of course he knew that Akechi had been the one to fuck everything up for him at school. Akechi had been the only one with access to his phone, around that time. And Akira had been pissed, for a while.

But as his friends started to drop away from him one by one and Akira was left with more and more time alone where he could do nothing but think, he felt like he started to get why Akechi had done it. Akechi had been telling him, _here, have a taste of my life._ So Akira couldn't be mad at him. It just hurt.

Akira was walking into the school gates, lost in his thoughts, when he heard shouts, and his head jerked up.

“Someone's on the roof!” People were pointing up, and Akira's eyes followed.

Even from a distance, he knew that figure.

“Akechi!” Akira yelled, his feet moving forward without a thought. “AKECHI!”

Akechi didn't turn to look or move. It seemed he couldn't hear Akira. He just stood there on the edge of the roof, hair wisping over his face in the wind.

Akira dropped his school bag on the ground and raced through the halls, up the stairs, yanking open the door to the roof.

But when he got there, it was empty.

Sitting on the edge were a pair of shoes, and a notebook.

x x x

The next few days were so busy, Akira didn't have time to think. He had to pack up and move and bow and apologize to a lot of people, teachers, his parents. And then he was in Tokyo, living in a musty attic under some stranger's roof and out of everyone else's hair.

He wasn't going to get to go to Akechi's funeral.

Akira didn't look at the notebook for a solid month. Just thinking about it made him remember the blood on the pavement, his shattered skull, the cracked watch poking out of his sleeve.

He probably should have given it up to the police as some kind of evidence of...something, but Akira wasn't feeling very friendly with police lately, and like hell he was going to let anyone else dig up Akechi's shit so they could nod to themselves and say, _hmm, it seems he was a troubled boy. It was probably inevitable._

Akira just buried the notebook at the bottom of one of his moving boxes and avoided thinking about it.

It wasn't until he found a stray copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ in one of his boxes that it came to mind again. He didn't remember owning this book, but maybe he'd bought it for that class in cram school?

It wasn't like he had any friends or a social life here, anyway, so he had the time to flop down on his bed and read something. He'd read it before, but he didn't have the brain energy to start anything new, and he didn't think he'd really properly absorbed it anyway, back in middle school.

He didn't like this book.

_This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started._

Akira sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and dropped the book on the floor.

“Fuck...” Akira mussed up his hair in his hands, stared at the back cover sitting on the floor for a while, then picked up the book again.

_I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff—I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day._

That was when he started to cry.

“ _That's not what it's about,”_ he could hear Akechi sneer in his ear. _“That passage is about loss of innocence. You really are illiterate, aren't you?”_

“I'm not dumb,” Akira said to nobody at all, trying to wipe his cheeks, but it was just getting worse. “I get what it's about. I just don't want to hear about anyone fucking falling to their deaths.”

His answer was silence.

Book gripped tight in one hand, Akira dropped his head to his arms and sobbed.

Then he slid off the bed, crawled over to his shelf and fumbled around in one of his boxes to pull out the notebook he'd been avoiding looking at all month.

He flipped through all the earlier pages. It hurt to look at. Every single page screamed _I want to kill myself_ , and Akira had just—had he not noticed? Had he been in denial? Had he thought Akechi wouldn't do it? And Akira had done fuck-all about it. He could have done so much to stop him, he could have spent more time with him, he could have tried to get him help, told someone—but no, Akira hadn't felt any of that was necessary, had he? He'd just—just so _arrogantly_ believed they could hug it out, if Akira told him his feelings, that would give him something to live for.

What the fuck had he ever understood about Akechi?

“I fucking told you not to hurt yourself,” Akira choked out as he sat on the floor, flipping through the pages. As if that solved everything. As if you could just blackmail him into not doing it.

When he got to the place where entries had ended, before, now, he found it was filled. There was a picture of Akira—just a portrait of his face. Akira didn't know enough about art to say if it was good or not, but it recognizably looked like him, and it looked like it had been done with a careful hand.

And there was a story.

_If he were here, he would probably try to stop me._

_He would find me on the roof at the last minute and scream something dramatic. “I know you did all that stuff, and I don't care!” And then he would take me in his arms and kiss me, like that would fix everything. “You're the only one I have now. Don't leave me.”_

_Or maybe I'm just imagining he would say that. I have a hard time figuring out what he would really do. I'm starting to think I'm a shit judge of character. I'm shit at a lot of things._

_But he would try to stop me. He's good like that._

_And so stupid. I don't know what he sees in someone broken like me._

And that was it. That was the last line.

“Fuck you,” Akira shook his head. His face and hurt from crying. “You didn't even give me a chance. Fuck you!”

He tried to be mad at Akechi, but he couldn't maintain it. Akechi's death was objectively his fault, and Akira didn't even have anyone around to tell him kind lies about that.

_Once everything is torn away from you, whatever's left is the truth._

That was something that had been written over and over in the notebook. And now Akira was discovering that Akechi had been right.

Eyes closed, Akira's hand slid down the long scar that still remained on his forearm. He found himself touching it unconsciously, now and then.

Now, like he hadn't before, Akira knew this was the one thing that was real.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for suicide.
> 
> If you're thinking about suicide, please tell someone. I put myself through a lot of pointless years of misery and you don't have to. It does get better.
> 
> International list of suicide hotlines:
> 
> http://www.suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html


End file.
